Be All My Sins Remembered
by ReadySet
Summary: When Neal sees a suspicious man outside of the FBI building, he should have known it was bad news. It soon becomes clear just how much trouble he and Peter are in. Just a little whump story.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar, Neal, or any of the other characters (sadly).

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><p>It seemed like a perfect day. Which should've been a key indicator to Neal that something was going to go wrong. They had just wrapped up a case, and Neal was just wandering back from lunch. There was some paper work to get done, but Peter had hinted that he'd let everyone go home early that night. But despite everything having been good so far, he had an aching feeling it wasn't going to stay that way. Unfortunately, that was all he had: a gut feeling. Nothing to prove the day would end terribly, so he pushed the feeling aside as he approached the FBI building.<p>

Being perceptive of his surrounding was second nature to him. Whenever he saw something valuable, his mind zoomed to ways he could "borrow" it. When he walked into a building, his first thought was possible exit routes. And when he saw someone acting suspiciously, his first instinct was to figure out what was going on. Which was why he took interest in the man wearing all black loitering outside the FBI building, looking for all the world like he was trying to blend into the wall behind him. When he noticed how the man glanced at every person who walked by like they were about to accuse him of some crime, Neal knew immediately something was going on that shouldn't be. The man had his hood pulled up to cover his face, despite the mid-summer heat, a brief case white knuckled in one hand, and a cell phone held to his ear in the other. Neal had been in his position enough to recognize that he was up to something.

Neal leaned against a stair railing just within earshot of the man, pretending he was reading something on his phone while he strained to hear what the guy was saying. Unfortunately, he was talking so quietly that Neal could only make out a few words, like "FBI", and "bomb". Suddenly, the man snapped the phone shut, looked around conspiratorially, and hurried off with his head down. Neal lingered by the door, waiting to see where he went. He saw the man round the corner, still glancing over his shoulder every couple steps. Neal was inclined to follow the man, but, glancing at his watch, he saw he was already close to being late, and he knew from experience that Peter would be suspicious if he was. There was no doubt that trying to tail the man would make him late. He considered telling Peter that someone might be trying to bomb the FBI building; except he didn't actually have any proof. All he had was a shifty guy having a shifty conversation and saying the word "bomb". Somehow, he doubted that Peter would really appreciate "crazy accusations".

With a last glance towards the direction the man had gone, he hurried inside. He glanced around the lobby (and took more time than was strictly necessary getting to the elevators so as to have a better look around), but saw no one acting remotely suspicious. He boarded the elevator, scanning the lobby again as the doors closed. He knew the very idea of someone trying to blow up a federal building was absurd, but he found it hard to relax or think of anything else as he traveled up. Neal hardly noticed as the elevator dinged to inform him it had reached his floor. He walked out, heading to his desk out of habit and taking off his hat, with the flourish of course. Only after this did he glance up to see Peter walking down the stairs toward him, not worrying in the slightest about strange men in black.

"You're late." He said, though not harshly.

"Jumping the gun a bit, don't you think? I've still got a few minutes." He bantered, if without his usual energy. If Peter noticed anything about his behavior, he didn't mention it. "C'mon, we've got a meeting in the conference room. Big new case." He informed Neal, nodding toward the stairs. "For that, we are late." Neal sighed and followed Peter up the stairs. So much for going home early.

The meeting was absolutely gripping, with the ever unique and exciting mortgage fraud cases and such. It was all Neal could do to pay attention to what Peter was saying. Eventually the meeting finished, and everyone went off to complete their assigned tasks. Neal really did try to concentrate on the case, but his mind kept drifting off to the man in black and shady business. The rest of the day passed by without his notice as he struggled to gain anything from the file in front of him. People slowly packed up and left, and when Neal finally thought about calling it a day, since he couldn't even concentrate on the case any longer, it was already getting dark outside. Before he could, though, Peter appeared at the railing and motioned for him to come up to his office. Neal sighed, already thinking of defenses for whatever suspicious activities he'd been up to now, and complied.

"Yes, Peter." He asked, taking up his usual spot in the chair across from Peter's.

"What's going on with you? I know you don't like mortgage fraud-"

"It's not that I don't like them," Neal interrupted. "I would just rather be thrown out of a moving car at sixty miles an hour than look at another case file." He clarified.

"But you hardly even paid attention the entire time. You had that look in your eye." Peter continued as though Neal hadn't interrupted.

"That look?"

"That one you get whenever you're about to get into trouble."

"What type of security does this building have?"

"It's got plenty of security. Why, are you thinking of stealing something?" He joked.

"Like you have anything worth stealing." Neal dismissed with a wave of his hand. Peter looked slightly offended by this, but Neal didn't give him the chance to comment. "I was just wondering what sort of protection there is against… security threats." He said, purposefully vague.

"What the hell is going on Neal?" Peter half whispered. Neal considered him a second, then relented, explaining what he had seen earlier. Peter, predictably, looked skeptical.

"Neal, these are serious accusations. And even if you're right, I don't think it's possible. I mean, if you hadn't noticed, security's pretty tight. I think it'd be easier to break into the private collection in the Met than plant a bomb in the FBI." He said confidently. Neal cleared his throat and looked down, almost guiltily. "Don't tell me." He began incredulously. Neal gave a helpless sort of shrug, his face apologetic.

"Any places I may or may not have visited in the past are irrelevant right now. The point is I've seen how nervous people get when they're about to pull a con, I know how it feels enough to recognize it." Peter still didn't look convinced.

"Even if you're right and someone is planning something, chances are they'll get caught long before they actually get anywhere." Even while Peter was talking, Neal was staring down to the lower lever, eyes glued to a figure walking through the glass doors. He was wearing a janitor's uniform now, one hand in his pocket and the other on a briefcase, but Neal recognized him immediately. Neal looked away, hoping not to draw suspicion as he whispered to Peter, "That's him."

Peter looked and saw the man to whom Neal was referring. As skeptical as he was, he knew that man didn't work here, and that there was definitely something suspicious about him. Peter carefully tucked his gun in his holster and stood. Unfortunately, there was no way to inconspicuously get to the lower level, and they hadn't gotten more than half way down the stairs when the man spotted them. He looked shocked to see that there were still people here. Neal could see the panic in his eyes, even before he pulled his hand that wasn't holding the briefcase out of his pocket. He could tell from the look in the man's eyes what was about to happen, even as he revealed the dead man's switch.

"Don't move, or I blow this place." He ordered. Despite the command, Peter still continued walking down the steps and closer to him.

"Sir, put it down. We can talk about this." Peter placated, but it had no effect. Neal could see him from the corner of his eye, slowly bringing his hand closer to where his gun was holstered. Neal wished he could've told Peter to stop, that there was no way bringing a gun into play would help, but there was nothing he could do but pray the man didn't see the gun. He did, of course; Neal saw the exact moment when his eyes found it beneath Peter's jacket, and he knew in that second that they had only one chance. He dove for the switch in the man's hand, even as Peter tried to pull his gun; but the bomber was faster than both of them, and before they realized what was happening, the world collapsed around them.

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><p>AN: I know it's short, but I can't help that it was the best place to stop it. I promise there will be loads of whump in the next chapter. And really, who doesn't need a good dose of whump just before school starts.<p>

This was going to be a one-shot, but it worked better in chapters. I really didn't even mean to write this, because I have several other things that I'm writing now, and I've been meaning to finish those. Then this idea popped in my head, and I needed a break from my other stuff anyway, so I figured it couldn't hurt. It hasn't been beta-ed, so any mistakes (of which there are probably plenty) are my own. I've written the rest already, I just need to edit, so if people review a lot then it might get up faster *hint hint*. Regardless, thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar, Neal, or any of the other characters (sadly).

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><p>The first thing Neal registered was that he couldn't breathe. It felt like there was an elephant on his chest. The second thing he knew was that everything hurt. He carefully blinked open his eyes, but closed them quickly when he found a beam of light shining directly into them and turned his head away with a moan. The world spun around him and, for a second, he thought he would be sick. The only thing that grounded him and prevented it was the sound of someone calling his name. He blinked through the dust, but didn't see anyone. He heard the voice again, and recognized it.<p>

"Peter." He tried to call, but it came out as a cross between a gasp and a moan.

"Neal." Came the more desperate call. Neal struggled to pull in a breath to respond; but no matter how hard he tried, his breath still came in little gasps. Judging by the rubble blocking his line of sight and the pressure on his chest (and entire body), he surmised that he was well and truly buried. Mustering his strength, he managed to extricate his arms and tried to shift some of the rubble around him. Finally, he was able to move the debris around his head and see, though the air was so full of dust it didn't much matter. He continued struggling with whatever it was weighing on his chest, his breathing becoming almost panicked in his attempt to be free.

"Peter." He managed to croak out.

"Neal, are you okay?"

"Can't breath." He rasped. Even if Peter didn't understand what Neal said, it was obvious how much he was struggling to breath. But as Peter soon found out, it was going to be harder than he thought finding a path to Neal through all the wreckage.

Peter himself had been relatively lucky. He hadn't been thrown too far. He'd checked himself over, and luckily didn't have any symptoms of a concussion or any serious injuries. He had a gash running down his arm, but it wasn't too deep; he also had a feeling he'd landed on his shoulder, because when he tried to move it, a bolt of pain shot through him. It didn't seem to be dislocated or broken, but he'd definitely done something to it.

Once he'd made sure he was relatively okay, he turned his attention to his surroundings. It seemed like the floors above them had collapsed onto the White Collar Division. There was no way to tell from here, but if he had to guess, he would say the building wasn't too safe at the moment. He could only hope that the entire place wasn't going to collapse from under them.

Neal was still struggling, half panicked, to get out from beneath the debris. Besides the weight crushing his chest and keeping his lungs from expanding, the pain itself was bad enough to take his breath away. Just as he thought he would pass out if he couldn't get a full breath of air, the concrete shifted, and he took in a desperate gasp of the dusty air. He regretted it the next instant. His chest burned fiercely, and he was at once sure that he'd at least cracked a few ribs, if not worse. A groan escaped his lips before he could stop it.

"Neal?" Peter called again.

"I'm okay." He panted out, trying to take small breaths to avoid the burning in his chest.

"I going to take me a bit to get to you, there's too much debris. Can you see the bomber? Did he get away?"

Neal glanced around him, searching for the man who had been right in front of him before the explosion. Finally he caught sight of an arm a few feet away, and his eyes traced up to the head, which was just barely visible. His stomach lurched horrible at the open, sightless eyes staring in his general direction. He wasn't sure if it was the concussion (which he guessed he had from the headache), or his usual dislike of violence and death of any kind, or just the shock of the last hour, but he was promptly sick. The world spun around him as he tried to gain control of his rebelling stomach. Finally the dry heaves stopped, and he realized Peter was calling to him again.

"I'm fine." He said quickly, though his aching ribs disagreed. "The bomber's dead." He heard Peter mutter something in response, but he couldn't make it out. He tried to wipe the dust from his eyes, but felt something wet on his forehead. He pulled his hand back, and through the wavering light, he could see it was covered in blood. At least that explained the dizziness.

He could hear Peter moving things somewhere to his right, and tried to sit up to get a better look at his surroundings. But even attempting to sit up with his chest in the state it was proved to be a bad idea. His vision blurred. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath till the pain subsided. He only opened his eyes again when he heard a gasp. He hadn't realized Peter had gotten through.

Peter had a right to be shocked; Neal hadn't even mentioned being injured, let alone as bad as he was. Only Neal's upper half was visible, due to the massive amounts of debris he was buried under. Half of his face was exceptionally pale, while the other was covered in blood with a layer of airy white dust clinging to it. His normally impeccable suit was destroyed, ripped and torn and stained with blood and who knew what else. And as if he hadn't known that he was having trouble breathing already, it became even clearer at close range just how much he was struggling. He stumbled over the last few feet to Neal's side, his mouth gaping slightly at the state he was in.

Neal was half planning on saying something humorous, if only to pretend that the situation wasn't as bad as it clearly was, but between Peter's shocked face and still being slightly out of breath, nothing came out. The next thing he knew, Peter was by his side ripping off a piece of his equally ruined suit and pressing it to his forehead. Neal winced and moved his hand to stop Peter's, but he easily stopped the motion and was shocked to feel how badly his hands were shaking.

"I've got to stop the bleeding." He explained apologetically.

"Yeah." Neal half whispered, lowering his hand. "Do you think anyone knows we're up here?"

"I don't know. Someone must know about the explosion by now, it's been long enough."

"What? How long has it been?" He asked, confused.

"About an hour. You've been out the entire time." He said carefully, watching Neal's reaction.

"An hour?" He said incredulously. They fell into and awkward silence until Peter thought of something.

"Do you your cell phone? Mine was on my desk." Neal thought for a second. "Yeah, I think so." He said, reaching gingerly into his suit pocket and wincing as he brushed his injured ribs. He finally managed to get it out. The screen was cracked, but it seemed to be working fine. He tried to push the buttons, but his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't even hold it still. After a minute, Peter took it from him, and luckily Neal made no objection.

"Keep pressure on the wound." Peter instructed, to which Neal whispered an affirmation and moved his hand to his forehead. Quickly, Peter put in Diana's number and pressed the phone to his ear hopefully.

Neal zoned out for much of the conversation, only catching bits and pieces of it. He still had to concentrate on his breathing and keeping it very shallow so as not to aggravate his ribs again. In what seemed like no time at all, Peter had finished his call with Diana and turned his attention back to Neal.

"There are already emergency services on the ground. They're evacuating the lower levels that are still relatively stable. Luckily, there weren't that many people in the building. She's notifying the teams that we're up here. Hopefully they'll be able to get to us before too long." He said optimistically. In truth, he knew they weren't going to be there any time soon. Half the stairways were blocked, and it would take them a while to be able to get up there safely. "Anyway, we should probably get comfortable."

"I'm finding that kind hard to do, believe it or not." He said testily.

"Where are you hurt?" Peter asked bluntly. Neal rolled his eyes.

"I think I cracked a rib or two." He finally admitted. "Your arm okay?"

"Yeah, I must've landed on my shoulder." He dismissed. Neal didn't pursue it any further; he knew he wouldn't get anywhere.

"Think you can help get this stuff off me? I can't move it from here." Neal asked, feeling utterly useless and helpless. Peter nodded, glad for something to do, and began working to shift the debris off of him. It was slow going with only one arm, but it was more progress than Neal had been making.

"You okay?" Peter asked when Neal's breath caught for the dozenth time.

"I'm fine. This isn't the first time I've been in a tight space. Figuratively." He said, the corner of his mouth curling up a bit. Peter just shook his head. Only Neal would be this relaxed in this sort of situation. Or at least, he was doing a damn good job of pretending he was.

"What about you, Agent Burke? You can't tell me you've never been in a tight spot before."

"More so since you've come along." He bantered.

"You needed the excitement." Neal insisted.

"I joined the White Collar division to keep away from the danger and trouble. But it seems like with you there's no such thing."

"Hm." Neal said pensively.

"What?"

"Here I was thinking you did it for the coffee." They both laughed, though Neal's was short lived and soon replaced with a grimace.

Peter only rolled his eyes and continued trying to uncover him. Sometime later he heard Peter let out a small gasp. "What?" He asked, attempting to sit a bit more upright.

"Stop, don't move." Peter ordered quickly. Neal froze slightly, fearful as to what was wrong.

"Peter?" He prompted.

"It's nothing, Neal. Just don't try to move, there's a lot of glass…" He supplied quickly. Neal felt a stab of unease that there was something Peter wasn't telling him, but he didn't pursue it any further. The tension hung in the air a few moments before Neal finally spoke up.

"Did Diana say when they'd be able to get us out?"

"She said some of the stairs are blocked. They have to be careful that they don't bring the place down trying to clear them. It could take them a bit." Peter finally admitted.

"Great." He said sarcastically. "Isn't there any other way out of here?" Neal said desperately. Sitting around waiting for other people to rescue him was something he'd never get used to, especially not knowing how long help could take.

"No, there isn't. Sometimes you have to wait and let the professionals do their jobs." He said firmly.

"Have I taught you nothing? There's always another way." He said with a bit of his usual mischief as he tried to pull himself off the floor. "If we can make it to-" a gasp of pain cut through his sentence. He'd expected the pain in his ribs, but he wasn't ready for the terrible stabbing pain in his stomach. He looked down, and was utterly shocked to see a piece of glass sticking half way into his stomach. He nearly passed out again from shock. His head spun for a moment, and when he came back to himself, he was flat on the floor again with Peter's worried face looming over him.

"Neal!" He realized Peter must've been calling to him repeatedly.

"Yeah." He finally responded. Peter looked relieved that Neal had finally answered. He had, of course, seen the glass, which was the thing that had made him gasp minutes earlier. If Neal hadn't felt it yet, it could be easier if he didn't know the severity of his situation. He could name plenty of times he'd witnessed or heard of where victims would panic upon seeing the extent of their injuries and ended up hurting themselves further. He had no idea how Neal would react, and if he went into shock (which was a very likely scenario) then his chances dropped dramatically. He had hoped to avoid having to mention this, that the paramedics would be able to get there in time, but with Neal, nothing could be so easy. The wound wasn't bleeding heavily, at least; still, if he didn't get help soon, it wouldn't matter.

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><p>AN: Uh oh, things don't look good. I'm kinda nervous about this (that it sounds unrealistic), but not knowing about an injury when you're on an adrenaline high is totally possible. I've checked (if you looked at my Google searches you'd think I was a murderer). And for the record, there was no good place to stop this, so I decided to just cut it and be done with it. Whatever. I hope you guys like it! Review, cause they'll seriously get up a loooooot faster if I have encouragement. Though I do appreciate the storyauthor alerts as well. Even if you guys don't review or alert, I thank you very much for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar, Neal, or any of the other characters (sadly).

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><p>The saying "ignorance is bliss" had never been more true for Neal. While he had been unaware of the glass, he had felt almost numb, except for his ribs. But the moment he caught sight of the injury, blinding pain had hit him. As annoyed as he was that Peter hadn't mentioned it earlier, he immediately wished he could go back to not knowing so it wouldn't hurt as much.<p>

"Neal, I've got to take off your shirt to get a better look at the glass, okay?" He asked, hoping to distract Neal and keep him lucid.

"Kay." He mumbled. Peter began unbuttoning it, starting at his collar and pulling his blood soaked shirt back to reveal and ugly motley of black and blue across his chest. It wasn't surprising that he was having trouble breathing. He continued down toward the glass, ripping the already ruined shirt so as not to jar the glass. There was no way to tell how far in the glass was, but he comforted himself with the fact that it looked like a clean cut, no jagged edges, and that the blood was minimal. Even though he was trained for these kinds of situations, he still felt sick looking at his friend.

He turned his attention back to Neal, who was very clearly in worse pain now, and taking very shallow quick breaths. He felt so useless, seeing his friend in pain and not even being able to help him. He clamped down on his own panic and tried to stay calm for Neal's sake.

"Just breathe, okay." He instructed.

"Easy for you to stay." He gasped, wincing at the stress it put on his ribs. He was afraid Neal was either going to have a panic attack or pass out on him if he didn't do something.

"Let's get you sitting up." He said. "Just let me help you, okay. Dignity's long out the window." He assured, seeing Neal's hesitation. Finally Neal nodded. Peter carefully slipped his good arm beneath Neal and gently pulled him up to lean against a broken desk behind him, so he was propped up at an angle. It wasn't hard to tell that even the little movement cost him a lot, but to his credit he didn't let out a noise until he was safely propped up. A groan escaped his lips as he relaxed against it, and his entire body was painfully tense as he rode out a wave of pain. He didn't even realize he had a death grip on Peter's arm. Peter didn't say anything until his features had relaxed, and thankfully, his breathing was notable easier. "Better?" He asked.

"Yeah, thanks." He said carefully, letting go of Peter's arm awkwardly.

"So I guess this means we're not going to find a way out?" He said a little while later, a half smile playing on his lips.

"No, definitely not." He laughed.

"You should try." Neal said.

"Try what?" Peter asked.

"To get out of here. As noble as it is, you don't have to stay." He said offhandedly.

"Even if I could get out of here, I wouldn't. They'll get here soon enough." He said confidently. Neal just looked at him.

"Peter we both know they're going to be a while. It's been almost two hours already. And one man will get down faster than a couple guys with gear can get up here."

"Neal, you're not going to get rid of me that easy." He said in a would be casual way. Neal knew why Peter was staying, and it meant more than even he could express with words.

"Do you have any idea who did this?" Neal finally asked.

"No. All we know is that he wasn't working alone. Diana said that the bomb squad thinks the explosives were on an upper level. They've found more a few floors down, but they weren't even activated. Possibly what our guy was doing here. I don't think he was expecting anyone to be here at this hour."

"Well he's clearly never met Peter Burke." He said with a half laugh that he quickly ended with a grimace. Peter looked at him, trying to disguise his worry at the state his partner was in. Even though there was a layer of sweat on his face mixed with the blood and the warmth of the summer night, he could still see how badly he was shaking. He gingerly slipped off his ruined suit jacket and laid it carefully over Neal. Perhaps the worst thing was that Neal didn't even object to the action, and for Neal to not even comment on something that so wounded his dignity and pride spoke to how terribly wounded the rest of him was. He couldn't tell if Neal was still shaking or not, but he suspected yes, since being cold wasn't the only factor.

The silence seemed to press in on them, and Peter found himself straining his ears and making himself believe he could hear people coming. Every time it was wishful thinking though.

"This wasn't exactly how I thought I would go." Neal said with a forced laugh, and the hopelessness in his voice broke his heart.

"Neal, you're going to be fine." He said firmly, trying to convince himself of the fact just as much as Neal. Neal looked at him, visibly struggling to keep it together.

"Peter, I'm not stupid. It could be hours before they reach us. I appreciate the confidence, but I think we both know they won't get here in time." He said, staring resolutely at what was left of the ceiling. It was one of the very few times Peter had seen his confident image slip completely, but at no other time had he seen the young man look so wholly terrible and hopeless. His face was beyond deathly white, and more of a sickly, ghostly gray. The half of his face not covered in deep crimson blood was covered in sweat, even as he shivered. But besides the physical mess he was, there was something about his expression, a look in his eyes that was beyond fear and just utterly hopeless. There was no spark in his eye, no plan or mischief being formulated behind that smile. There was nothing but resignation. And it scared the hell out of Peter.

"Neal, you've gotta hang in there." He begged, but Neal went on like he didn't even hear him.

"I never really thought about it. Somehow I always thought it would be old age. Which seems kinda ridiculous given certain lifestyles choices. I just felt like someday everything would be normal or something. I was going to propose to Kate, did I ever tell you? Everything was going to be perfect. We were going to get a house and have two point five kids and grow old together. We would have a different life. It would be perfect." Neal said very quickly, almost like he was about to have a panic attack, and Peter realized he had to stop this, now.

"Neal!" He almost shouted. He finally looked at Peter, his eyes red rimmed and unfocused. "You are going to be fine." He said very slowly and clearly, as though he was talking to a child. He put a hand on Neal's trembling shoulder, which seemed to ground him slightly. "The EMT's will get up here any time now. And by the time you get to the hospital you'll have the nurses eating out of your hand." He said hopefully, though he knew it was a major exaggeration. "Okay?" He prompted when Neal didn't respond.

"Okay." Neal finally answered, and he looked more calm if not entirely convinced. In any case, he looked like he'd pulled himself together, and his breathing had calmed down, even though it was still painful with little gasps as he tried not to aggravate his injuries.

Suddenly, they both jumped, Neal with a pained grimace, when his phone went off. Peter looked at the cracked screen, just able to make out the caller ID. "It's Diana." Peter explained. Neal gave him a little not to say he should answer it. "Tell me they're close." Was the first thing he said into it.

Neal paid slightly more attention to the conversation this time, if only for something to distract him. He couldn't make out what Diana was saying on the other end, so the conversation seemed oddly one sided.

"We don't have that kind of time… Then do it… Whatever you have to do… Not good." He said the last bit slightly quieter, though Neal could still hear him. "I think he's starting to go into shock." He said quieter still. "I know, I'm trying, but if he doesn't get help soon… Yeah, put her on, thanks Diana… Hey, Hun… Yes, I'm fine. I promise… I'm sorry, I would've called… He's… yeah… Okay, I'll tell him… Yeah, I love you too. Okay. Bye." He finally finished the conversation and closed the phone.

"Are they close" Neal asked half-heartedly, already knowing the answer.

"Maybe a thirty minutes, no more than an hour." He said casually. Neal nodded slightly, though his stomach churned at the thought of staying here one more minute.

"El says hi. And that you're invited over to dinner when this is all over. Which means you're coming. Death is not a legitimate excuse for not showing up." He said mock seriously.

"If El's cooking then I'd better show up." He slurred with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, which had begun drooping alarmingly.

"Neal, you've got to stay awake." Peter said desperately a few minutes later.

"I'm good." He slurred, snapping his eyes open. The motion only lasted a few moments before they were sliding shut again.

"You know, this all just proves one thing." Peter said.

"What's that?"

"You never do anything half assed."

Neal couldn't stop the laugh, which he soon regretted as it launched him into a painful coughing fit. He leaned forward as best he could to try and alleviate the pain it caused. Peter quickly moved forward and held him upright so he didn't injure himself further.

"Deep breaths, Neal. Deep breaths." He instructed. It seemed to take forever for him to finally get his breathing under control again, which still left him gasping painfully. Almost all of his weight was again Peter's good shoulder, being too weak to even sit up on his own. When he was sure Neal had recovered enough, he carefully lowered Neal so he was laying back against the broken desk again. His lips were blue, and he was even paler than before, if possible. It seemed like almost a miracle he was still conscious.

"You okay?" He finally asked. Neal nodded slightly, not trusting himself to speak. His chest was on fire, and he was almost positive he'd hurt his ribs more. Even shallow breaths were painful, and his vision was tunneling as he tried to catch his breath.

"Sorry." Peter apologized some time later, but Neal dismissed it with an attempted wave of the hand, though he ended up merely twitching his fingers. Peter opened his mouth to speak when he heard a rustling and stopped. At first he thought it was what was left of the roof caving in, but then he realized the noise was coming from the direction of the stairs. He listened intently, barely daring to hope. The next second it was confirmed when he heard a man calling. "Is anyone up here?"

"Yes, over here." Peter practically cried with relief. "I told you they'd be here." He said to Neal, whose eyes were half shut. The paramedics approached as fast as they could given the mess and began tending to Neal. Peter answered their questions as well as he could, but he was alarmed when before they'd even loaded him on the stretcher his eyes were fully closed. Both he and the paramedics tried to wake him again, but he didn't so much as bat an eye. Peter wasn't entirely sure how he got down all the floors, all he remembered was stumbling out into the courtyard (a paramedic steading him), the stars in the dark sky being overshadowed by the New York city lights. Neal was being wheeled into the ambulance even as a figure ran up to him and nearly tackled him to the ground. El was hugging him fiercely, a motion Peter gratefully returned.

"I was so afraid." She whispered in his ear.

"I know. I'm fine though. I promise." He comforted her, holding her tight. Soon there was a paramedic at his shoulder.

"Sir, are you injured?" She asked gently.

"No, I'm fine, I just need to get to my partner." He said quickly, his eyes moving to the ambulance again. He wanted to go over and check on him, but the paramedic pushed on despite his assurances.

"Sir, please, you're bleeding."

"Honey, go." El prodded gently even as the ambulance, and Neal, raced away.

"Sir, your friend is going to the hospital, where you should be." Diana was suddenly by his side.

"Boss, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm find. Just trying to tell him that." He said, gesturing to the EMT.

"No offence, Boss, but you don't look very 'fine.'" She said quietly. For the first time, Peter took in his own appearance. His suit was ripped and ruined, he was covered in pale white dust and blood, of which only a small amount was actually his. After a last desperate look from his wife, he allowed himself to be guided over to an ambulance. Diana followed and began updating him. "Emergency response teams are working to clear out any survivors. Luckily, there weren't many people there to begin with. We're still getting reports in, but it could've been much worse. We're working on who set up the attack, but they don't think its terrorism." She explained. Peter was about to begin asking questions, but Diana interrupted him, saying that he needed to be at the hospital more than here. "Just go, check on Neal. I'll call if we get anything." She said as he was settled into the ambulance. Peter nodded and allowed the EMT's to close the door and speed off to the hospital.

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><p>AN: This would've been up at least an hour ago, but for some reason when I tried to save it, all of my changes were lost. And I'd made a lot of changes... Ugh, not fun.<p>

Anyway, hope you guys enjoy reading it more than I enjoyed editing it. And that you review! Of course, a big thank you to everyone who has already. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar, Neal, or any of the other characters (sadly).

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><p>Neal was already in surgery by the time Peter got to the hospital. And no matter how much he badgered the nurses, no one could tell him anything new. El did her best to get him to relax, but nothing she said could assuage his worries.<p>

Peter himself had gotten out lucky, or so the doctors said. He had an acute rotator cuff tear (which would have to be kept in a sling for a few weeks), and a three inch cut on the same arm, as well as a myriad of other small scrapes and bruises, but he was otherwise unharmed. He was released with strict orders of bed rest for at least a week. He wasn't all that concerned for himself, though. It had been an hour since they'd arrived, and there was still no news on Neal. He'd even gone so far as to threaten to arrest the nurse if they didn't tell him what was going on, but the only effect that had was nearly causing the new nurse to burst into tears. At some point, Peter, having come down from his adrenaline high of the last few hours, dozed off in an extremely uncomfortable waiting room chair. He had no idea he'd even fallen asleep until El was gently shaking him awake.

"Hun. Wake up. The doctor's here." Peter practically jumped out of the chair. With El holding his good arm as the only sign of her nervousness, he approached the doctor.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Belle, Mr. Caffrey's surgeon." He said, shaking Peter's hand.

"How is he?" Peter asked immediately, skipping the usual formalities.

"Mr. Caffrey's pulled through the surgery. He suffered massive internal bleeding from both the glass penetrating his abdomen and the trauma to his chest. He's suffered three fractured and two broken ribs, as well as a pulmonary contusion, or bruising to the right lung in laymen's terms. We have him on a ventilator just as a precaution, but we should be able to take him off of it in the morning. He also has a moderate concussion and a four inch laceration on his forehead that required stitches. He was in circulatory shock when he arrived at the hospital, but we've pushed fluids. He's just out of surgery and because of the anesthetics probably won't be conscious till sometime tomorrow." He finished. Peter and El were momentarily stunned. "I know it sounds like a lot, but his chances are good. He's young and strong. The next few hours will tell." He said gently.

"Can we see him?" Peter asked promptly.

"Yes, but you should know that it's hard for some people to see loved ones in this state, so you should prepare yourselves. Tammy will show you to his room." He said, motioning to a nurse. "If you need anything, have a nurse page me. I'll be by to check on Mr. Caffrey in a few hours." He assured them before leaving.

Silently the blonde nurse led them down the hall, stopping at a door that looked no different than any other in the mass of white. "The nurse's station is just down the hall if you need anything." She said with a comforting smile.

"Thank you, we will." El answered. As the nurse walked away, El opened the door slowly, peeking in nervously. Dr. Belle hadn't been exaggerating when he said to be prepared when they saw Neal. There was no way to describe what it felt like to see Neal in that bed, seeming somehow even more vulnerable and weak than he had back at the ruins of the FBI building. Despite the doctor's reassurances, it was still hard to believe that all those machines were helping him. There was a horrible jolt in Peter's stomach, and for a second, his head spun. Before he realized what was happening, El had his arm and was guiding him over to the chair.

"I'm fine." He protested.

"No, you're not. You've had a traumatic day and it's catching up with you. Now sit." She said gently, yet forcefully. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right, and he allowed her to lead him to one of the seats near the bed. He sighed, averting his eyes from Neal's prone form and rubbing his tired eyes.

They both sat in silence for a long time. El knew better than to try to say anything to him just then. There would be time to comfort and reassure him, but now wasn't it. At some point he dozed off again. He had a nightmare he was back in the wreck of the FBI building. No matter how hard he searched he couldn't find Neal. He was quite nearly panicking trying to find him. All the while, Neal's voice was getting more and more desperate, and more and more faint, till it was gone all together. The next thing he knew the paramedics were there, leading him out. He tried to fight them, insisting that they needed to find Neal, but they ignored his protests. All of the sudden they were on solid ground again, and a few feet away was a stretcher with a thin sheet laid over it. Somehow he knew, without anyone telling him, that it was Neal. A paramedic stood next to it, ever so slowly pulling the sheet back.

With no warning, there was a loud noise, and he jumped awake. He was disoriented for a minute, still thinking Neal was dead. But there he was, laying in front of him, in bad shape, but very much alive. He looked around for the source of the noise and saw the door opening and Diana cautiously peeking inside.

"Sorry, Boss. I didn't mean to wake you." She apologized.

"It's fine. Is everything okay?" He asked wearily.

"Yeah, everything's under control. I just came to see how you and Neal were doing. I just talked to his doctor." She said quietly, as though talking too loud would wake Neal, which they both knew it wouldn't. "You should go home and get some real rest. You're exhausted." His first instinct was to protest that he didn't need rest, but since he'd been asleep till she walked in, that argument didn't really work. The ache in his neck was begging him to take her up on that offer, but he couldn't leave Neal alone, in a hospital of all places. "The doctor said the drugs he's on will keep him out till at least tomorrow morning. There're plenty of nurses to keep an eye on him till then. The best thing for him is rest, and it wouldn't hurt you to get some too." She said pointedly. Peter sighed, but finally nodded.

"Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks, Diana." He finally agreed, as he stood carefully from his chair. Diana offered him a small smile as he blearily made his way to the door.

It was near ten o'clock the next morning before Peter was able to head back to the hospital. He had slept late, despite having gone to bed relatively early, and when he did wake, El had insisted on cooking him a decent breakfast before he went anywhere. As much as he appreciated (and needed) it, all he wanted was to get back to the hospital.

By the time they got there, someone had already taken Neal off the ventilator, a relief for both of them. He looked marginally better than the day before, but he was still unconscious. They both sat down and got comfortable for what they expected to be a long wait.

It turned out not to be that long at all. Within an hour he began stirring, and his eyes flickered open. Peter nearly jumped out of his seat when he saw Neal awake.

"Hey, you okay?" Peter asked, before realizing that was a bit of a stupid question. Neal, still getting his bearings, moaned slightly in response. El motioned she was going to go get the doctor and quickly exited. Peter watched him anxiously, and though he wasn't quite taking normal breaths, his breathing was much more relaxed than it had been the previous day.

"I hate hospitals." He finally mumbled, and Peter couldn't help but laugh. "How long was I out?"

"About a day." Peter answered.

"Are you okay?" He asked, noticing the sling Peter's arm was in.

"I'm fine. Just a couple scrapes and bruises." He dismissed. "Does it still hurt to breathe?"

"A bit, but it's better than before. How long am I gonna have to stay here?" He asked. Peter rolled his eyes. He'd only just woken up and was already planning his escape.

"That's up to the doctor, but not for a while."

"Well, I could leave AMA."

"And I could put you back in prison if you try." Peter said pointedly. Neal rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything. He understood why Neal would want to be out of there as soon as possible, he was incredibly grateful he hadn't had to stay the night himself, but no matter how much sympathy he had for his situation, there was no way in hell he was even thinking about leaving till the doctor said he could. Peter could still barely get over the fact that Neal was even alive after all that they'd been through in the last forty-eight hours.

"Thanks." Neal said quietly.

"For what?"

"For everything that happened up there. You know, not leaving me behind."

"Don't mention it." Peter said quickly. "And besides, I couldn't exactly leave." He joked.

A mischievous smile grew on his lips. "Peter, I told you: there's always a way out."

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><p>AN: And that's it! Hopefully the end doesn't dissapoint (the end is always the hardest part). Again, thank you to everyone who's reviewed, or alerted, or read. I'm so glad you guys enjoyed it. I have a few other stories in the mix, so hopefully I'll be posting a new fic soon! If you want updates on when that'll be, check out my new twitter account! #!/SwanSong96 It would mean the world to me if you guys would check it out or (especially) follow me. Until then...


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